Solstice
by Sefirosukuraodo
Summary: Hodges/Sander Slash. David loves Greg and would do anything for him - including flying all the way to Norway to be with him - but just can't seem to find the words to tell him. Following advice, he struggles to keep Greg happy by learning about sacrifice.
1. 1: If I Had A Heart

A/N: I feel that there isn't enough Hodges/Sanders love out there, at least not much that's not a one-shot. So I thought this would be a nice change of pace to writing my own series.

Summary: Greg asks David to fly to Norway with him for the funeral of a family member. But David hates the cold, and more than that he hates being the subject of gossip – in a language he doesn't understand. But he endures all of this, and more, for Greg.

Chapter 1: If I Had A Heart

David Rolled over with a groan and tapped his alarm clock. Well, tapped might be the wrong verb – _smashed_ would be a bit more appropriate. Greg just never understood why Hodges still had an alarm clock when he had a perfectly good iPhone.

'Because my phone warranty doesn't cover groggily cracked screens on a daily basis,' he'd said.

Greg, of course, just laughed it off as 'cute'. But that was Greg for you; good, kind, optimistic and his flatulence smelled like freshly cut spring flowers. Well, the last part of that may or may not be exaggerated, but Greg Sanders was a saint – sickeningly at times. But David wasn't above admitting that Greg's sainthood was a rather large contribution to what kept him in the back of his mind at every hour of every day. You see, David loved Greg Sanders. He was madly and irrevocably in love with Greg. It had taken a long time to get to this point.

There was only one problem; David hadn't actually _told_ Greg the big 'L' word. He'd tried to on several occasions – during romantic dinners, movies, long drives in the desert, birthday outings – but whenever the moment would come, after spending five minutes building up to the moment via a carefully drafted speech, David's tongue with curl into his throat and his jaw would seem to tense taut like a stone. And then he would simply smile and wait for Greg to smile back, because the moment had ended.

David tried to get over the hump, and he certainly couldn't figure out just what was holding him back. He _knew_ that he loved Greg, which was never a questionable subject in his mind. But when it came time to put all of his admirations and adorations into that one symbolic word, well…

Still, despite his failures to vocalize his undying devotion for his younger lover, there was nothing that David wouldn't do to for him. That's what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

Norway. Who the hell wants to go to Norway? Not David.

'This has been really difficult for me to handle, and I don't think that I can go all the way there without my foundation of support,' Greg said.

Death. Of course death was difficult to handle. But when David saw those deep mahogany brown eyes looking up into his, saying his name this that vulnerable side of his voice, and stroking his ego by calling him the 'foundation' of his support… Greg knew that David's weakness was his ego – everyone did. And he just couldn't say no after a play like that. But when it came to Greg, it wasn't a ploy, it was sincere. And that's what made David feel even worse about the mere _thought_ of saying no.

'Of course I'll come with you,' David said.

And that's exactly how he'd gotten roped into this mess. David popped an eye open and looked at the fresh passport lying on the bedside table. The late afternoon sun was low on the western horizon, dust motes swirling in the slivers of light from the blinds. David rolled over and felt the empty space where Greg had been only hours before. Greg said that he had some last-minute errands to take care of before their trip. Still, it would've made David feel a little better to wake up to Greg's post-hibernation antics. Primarily, Greg's absolute need to snuggle after a night of passion.

But David was alone today, and he would be alone tonight when he had to face Catherine. One would assume that, after regaining the promotion she'd been reaching after for twenty years she would be ecstatic. Oh, but one would be wrong, wouldn't one? Catherine had been a bit of a hard-ass over the past two months, and no one could seem to explain it. And now David had to tell her that he, too, would also need a week off. But his challenge only got harder. Greg had a legitimate reason to take a week off – Grievance. But David had to convince her that he needed a week off with an _excuse_. The worst part: he hadn't even come up with one. At least, not a convincing one.

'Just tell her the truth,' Greg said.

'If I tell her I'm going with you to Norway for a family member's funeral, she's going to ask questions. If she asks questions, I'm going to have to lie to her about us – and you know Catherine, she'd got the intuition of a bloodhound.'

'Then let's tell her about us,' Greg said.

'Like a ravenous bloodhound,' Davis said. 'Like a ravenous, hungry, bloodthirsty hound from hell – an angry, ravenous, beast from hell.'

'David, are you even listening?'

David snapped out of his reverie, right back into those death-trap eyes. Once locked on, he couldn't escape them.

'It's okay to tell her about us,' Greg said.

'Greg, I thought we'd agreed that we value our privacy too much.'

'No,_ you_ value your privacy too much. If you recall, _I_ wanted to tell everyone at work because they're our family, and you convinced me that it would be better to leave things as they were. _I_ wanted to move in together, but you wanted to keep your apartment. But it's been over a year now, and I'm not happy anymore,' Greg said.

'You're… You're not happy?' David asked. His heart had lodged itself in his throat. He could still remember the numbing adrenaline fill his extremities with dread. "Are you… saying what I think you're saying?'

'What?' Greg asked, completely innocently until a thought flashed behind his eyes like lightning. 'Oh! Oh, God, no, David. That's not what I meant – I'm completely happy with you, I can't imagine not being with you. What I meant is that I need to know that there's some semblance of direction and maturity to what we have. I'm not happy just sneaking around anymore.'

'No, I guess you wouldn't be,' David said. He'd been expecting this. He didn't exactly _like_ it, but he'd been expecting it. And hearing that his insecurities was affecting Greg translated to David failing him. Greg was unhappy because of David and that made David feel small – incredibly small. 'Greg, I'm really sorry. I didn't know that you felt this way.'

'That's why I'm telling you now,' Greg said. 'I want you to tell me if there's a reason that you don't want people to know that you're with me.'

'I told you about my childhood,' David said in a low, quiet tone.

'I know about the bullying, I understand that. But this goes deeper than gay-bashing,' Greg said. 'This is specific to us, I know it.'

'Greg, it's got nothing to do with you. I just don't feel comfortable knowing that the people you've come to trust could turn on you because you've made the decision to get serious.'

'With another guy?' Greg asked incredulously.

'With… me,' David said.

Greg tilted his head, mind completely lost in fog at that comment. David could see that he didn't fully understand where he was coming from, so he decided to elaborate on that point after a long, heavy sigh.

'I'm not exactly Mr. Popular, Greg. Half of the people I don't annoy with my genius –'

'Arrogance,' Greg corrected with a wry smirk.

'Half of the people I don't annoy with my _arrogance_ still terrorize me for being 'different'. I'm a lab rat. You're a field mouse, now,' David said.

Greg laughed, much to David's disbelief and dismay.

'That is the worst defense case that I've ever heard. Most of it can't even be supported,' Greg said. And then Greg took the upper hand – the sneaky bastard – by taking David's hands into his and pressing his warm body against his. And his scent filled David's particularly sensitive nose with its musky pheromones and soft fragrances. 'What's really going on here, David?'

'Well, there's that, uh… Small detail about, uh… You and me, and a certain gap…'

'That's it?' Greg asked with a smirk. 'You're worried about what people will think about the age difference?'

'No, I'm terrified. Worried would imply that I think people would consider it 'just an age difference' whereas I'm concerned that people will write _Cradle Robber_ on my locker.'

'I didn't even know that it was an issue,' Greg said, taking a step back. David reached out, not willing to lose his touch.

'It's not an issue – not with me,' David said. 'But we don't exactly work with people who mind their own business.'

'We are their business,' Greg said. David rolled his eyes, and that's when Greg had apparently had enough. He pulled his hands out of David's slender fingers and grabbed his keys off of the coffee table.

'Where are you going?'

'Look, I'm not going to force you to tell Catherine the truth about us, that's your business,' Greg said. 'But if you cared about me, you'd understand just how important it is for me to be open and honest with my team. And if you care about yourself, you wouldn't let them get in the way of us.'

David watched Greg walk out the door. He came back only two hours later to apologize and make up – with raunchy make up sex, of course – but it still lingered with him. David had to face Catherine today, and he still hadn't decided what he was going to tell her – fact or fiction.

Maybe Greg was right, and coming out to Catherine would be the right decision? Maybe Catherine would go all Mama-Bear over her young friend and sink her teeth into David for corrupting and invading her pseudo baby-brother. David was forty-six years old; Greg was thirty-five. If that didn't look odd to his crime lab team then David didn't know his investigators well. The problem was that he did know them well, and could anticipate their reactions as surely as the sun would rise.

Greg was well-protected and loved. David didn't want to risk that.

He rolled out of bed and rubbed his eyes. He scratched his chest and glanced over his shoulder at a few throbbing lines running pink down his pale flesh. Scratch marks; never got tired of them. He smiled to himself as he recalled exactly how he'd got them, and the thought of bragging to the lab that he'd snagged a hot little number like Greg seemed, for just a brief moment, a little less foreboding. Then he thought of the hurricane of 'good old fashioned southern morals' that would blow in his face from Nick. And of course, Catherine would console Nick, leaving Greg feeling left out. And Sarah, shocked, would walk off silently to process what she'd just learned – and call Gil – leaving Greg feeling worse. And by the end of it all, Greg would be miserable and David would become the department pariah. At least, that's how it always ended in his projections, give or take a few embellishments.

So there he was, showered and shaved, standing in the doorway of Catherine's office and tossing over every possible outcome in the palms of his hands. David was dead silent as he stood there and it was a few minutes before Catherine finally looked up from her computer to give her eyes a break. She gasped, only slightly, and then steeled herself again.

"You're like a ghost, Hodges," Catherine said.

"Yeah – call me Casper the friendly Voyeur," Davis said with a faux-chuckle – which didn't exactly win Catherine over.

"Did you need something?" Catherine asked.

"I, uh, have the results from that soil sample in the case. The soil tested positive for _major_ nuclear contamination," David said as he handed Catherine his result sheet. She glanced over the sheet and lifted her brows with mild surprise.

"Way too high to be from a soil nuclear density test," Catherine said.

"Which means that our vic was probably killed on the Test Site near Lincoln. Oh, and once I told Sarah about the findings she confirmed that there is a missing girl from Lincoln matching our vic's age and description names Elisabeth Harnois"

"And then the killer brought her body to Vegas," Catherine said. She took off her glasses and lifted the corners of her mouth into her little smirk of praise. "Good work, Hodges, you just gave us the first big lead in two days."

David made a little bow and a sarcastic salute before straightening out his jacket and shoving his hands into his pockets. He lingered in the doorway, rocking back and forth on his feet with a complacent smile – the friendliest he could muster – and took deep breaths.

"I can't help but get the feeling that there's something else on your mind; call it women's intuition," Catherine said dryly.

"It's just that I, uh, need time off," David said.

"How much time?"

"A week."

Catherine didn't look as amused as he'd hoped she would.

"You are aware that I'm going to be one investigator short in three days," Catherine said.

"Right, Greg told me about his grandfather passing. My condolences," David said.

"And when do you need this time off?"

"In… three days…"

Catherine barked a laugh.

"Do tell: what is so important that you need _a week_ off?" She asked.

"It's a medical emergency," David said. "I have… a… rash."

"A rash?" Catherine asked.

"I have allergies," David said with a shrug.

"What kind of allergies?"

"I have a bowel disorder," David said. "It's getting really messy – I need to fly to a specialist in Los Angeles."

"Hodges, I don't have time for your squirrelly routine right now – are you going to tell me what's really going on or should I just tell you no right now?"

"As in you're willing to give me time off provided the reason is legit?" He asked out of curiosity. Catherine glared for a moment before waving him off and returning to her computer. "Okay-okay-okay! Just… hold on."

David glanced around the lab and discreetly closed her office door. She looked him from the ground up, a bit surprised, but crossed her arms and fell silent to listen.

"My time off… it kind of involves Greg," David said. He sat down in the thinly framed chair in front of her desk, placing his hands in his lap and hanging his head like a little boy. "Greg asked me to go with him to Norway for support, and I said yes."

Catherine tapped a pen on the desk, drawing his attention up to her. She was hunched over a document and making her way down, signing initials here and signatures there.

"Catherine?" David asked. She looked up suddenly. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Yeah," Catherine said. "You can go, that's fine."

"Just like that?" David asked. She may as well have just levitated three feet off of the ground and sprouted white feathery wings, for all the kindness he just saw her – the very _shocking_ kindness.

"Just like that," Catherine said. She even winked.

David rose out of his feet, a bit stunned. He shuffled to the door, so dumbfounded that he literally stopped, scratched his head, and turned, sputtering until he could use his words.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" He asked.

"I'm not," she said matter-of-factly. "I'm looking out for Sanders."

David nodded silently and turned to the door. His fingers lightly brushed the cold metal when he heard Catherine sigh.

"He's sweet on you, you know," she said.

David glanced at her, gripping the handle firmly.

"Greg; he's sweet on you like chocolate over peanut butter," Catherine said.

"Y-yeah, I know," David said. In an uncharacteristic moment of humility, David blushed and faced her, vulnerable under this observation she'd made. "I know he is."

"I wish he wasn't, but he is. I don't mean that in a bad way, it's nothing against you. But you have to see how many ways this will complicate things for him, for the both of you," she said.

David sat down in the chair again, once again the smallest man in the world. "I know."

"I'm sure you do. But Sanders is a little more… romantic than you and I: he's an idealist, whereas we're practical. That makes him more susceptible to pain and humiliation."

"I know that," David said, a bit of snap from his teeth even threw Catherine off for a moment. "I think about it all the time."

"I'm sure you do, Hodges. And I'm sure that you treat him like a prince. Hell, he's probably seen twenty sides of you that none of us have seen, otherwise I can't imagine what he'd see in you," Catherine said. "I know that whatever you two have going on between you isn't my business. But I have a soft spot for the kid, so I would feel a lot more comfortable knowing that you have his best interests at heart."

David opened his mouth, ready to immediately assure her that Greg's wants and needs mattered to him as much as his own, if not more. But his mouth sagged down into a slight frown, and his eyes fell to the desk.

"He wants to be able to tell everyone about us," David said. "He's been asking me for months. He says he's so _proud_ of me that he would feel like the luckiest man in this precinct if he could walk into work holding my hand just once. His words, verbatim."

"And you don't feel the same?" Catherine asked, digging as an investigator does. David shook his head.

"It's not that – I do feel the same way, I've known I have for a long time now. But we're just two different people. Greg sees affection through symbolic gestures –"

"Like walking hand in hand in front of your friends and co-workers," Catherine said.

"Whereas I feel I show affection by, say, spending an evening at home cuddling on the couch with him, or making a car payment when his check is going to come a few days later than it's do. It's like you said; he's a romantic, where I'm just… practical."

He hated to say that word. Practical. It was just so… _practical_.

"Hodges, I don't want to pretend to be an expert on relationships, because believe me I've been around the block of failure more times than I'd like to count, but part of keeping someone happy is sacrifice. Big ones, small ones, it doesn't matter what kind of sacrifice is being made, every relationship has them."

David sunk into the chair with a grimace on his face.

"Do you want my advice?" She asked.

"No," he grumbled.

"Well grit your teeth and endure it," she said. "You're coming to a crossroads. We wouldn't be having this conversation if you weren't. If you want to keep this ship floating you're going to have to make some hard decisions that I know you won't like. But they will pop up on you whether you're prepared or not. If walking ten feet hand-in-hand makes him happy, then I'd say it's the easiest walk of shame I'd ever done – and I've had some shameful walks in my past."

"Yeah, I get it," David said.

"We're talking meaningless, degrading, pulling gravel out of my knees shame," Catherine said.

"Great pep-talk," David said snidely. He scrambled out of his chair, pushing thoughts of Catherine out of his head after she'd placed those images in his brain.

"I'm here if you need me, Hodges!"

He heard her laughing, with sent his teeth grinding.

David yawned and checked his watch. Five minutes until it was time to clock out. He saved his documents and cleared his area as the day shift began to file into the station. He pulled his leather jacket out of his locker, glad to see the paint smooth and vandal-less as images of his imagination ran away with him.

"David," Greg called from the hall. "Do you mind giving me a ride home? I caught a ride here with Nick and my car's at home."

"Of course," David said. Greg never had to ask – aside from letting him know that he needed a ride, of course. He slung his jacket around his shoulders and swung his key-ring around his index finger.

"I really appreciate it," Greg said. He smiled, and David could feel his heart swell inside of his chest with pride. Pride that Greg felt he could rely on him. Pride that Greg _wanted_ to rely on him. Pride that Greg was willing to go to such great lengths to make David happy, asking little-to-nothing in return.

Walking side-by-side to Greg, David glanced down at his partner's relaxed arms swinging very slightly back and forth at his side. David's fingers twitched a bit, and his arm followed suit. Only a couple of inches, his hand reached for Greg's very slowly as his heart pounded inside of his chest and his adrenaline made his digits tremble and his knees weak. A brush – just a brush – of skin sent David into a state of pure warmth.

"Sanders!" Nick rounded the corner, and David's hand dropped back to his hip like a slack rope. "Hey, you still need a ride back to your place?"

"No, Hodges is heading my way so he very generously offered to give me a lift," Greg said. "He's a very generous guy."

"You're a brave man, Sanders," Nick said as he looked Hodges from the ground up. "Hodges drives like a grandma with twenty babies in the backseat. He drives so slow I'm afraid of missing out on my next three birthdays by the time we get anywhere."

David narrowed his eyes as Nick laughed and patted him on the shoulder.

"I'm just kidding, Haas," Nick chuckled. "I'll catch you boys tomorrow."

David steamed all the way to the car with Greg smirking with amusement the entire way.

"The nerve of that hick 0 I do _not_ drive like some _grandmother_ with twenty cats in the backseat!"

"Babies, not cats," Greg said with a chortle.

David unlocked the doors and Greg bent low, staring at the boxes stacked in the middle of the front seat.

"You know, when you offered to drive me home you didn't say that the front seats were divided by a wall," Greg said.

"Actually, Greg, I didn't offer to drive you home. You asked me for a lift, and I said yes. But look at the bright side, baby; you won't have to worry about me getting fresh and putting my hand all over your knee," David said with a wink.

"There's always a bright side," Greg said sarcastically.

David started the car and pulled onto the street, stepping on the gas a little harder just to make a point to Greg.

"I talked to Catherine," David said.

"How did that go?" Greg asked.

"She's agreed to give me the time off," David said.

"What'd you tell her?" Greg asked.

"That I have rare Brazilian Butt-Worms from a bad batch of ground beef, and need a week to nurse my traumatized bunghole back to health," David said. He glanced Greg's way. He didn't react much. He didn't seem angry, but he didn't seem happy about it either. Just cold.

"I will pick up our tickets tomorrow afternoon and then it's A-Norway, baby," David said with a faux-Sinatra accent. It wasn't very good, but it seemed to put a smile back onto Greg's lips, which made David's mouth do the same.

"I believe it's _amore_," Greg said. "I want to buy the tickets."

"I can get them, don't worry about it," David said. Greg placed his hand over David's on the steering wheel, just resting his warm, tanned fingers over David's thinner ones.

"I want to," Greg said. "I'm dragging you to Norway, and I'm making you miss work. I want to at least pay for the tickets. Just let me do this, okay?"

"All right, fine," David said with a phony laugh. He took his hand off of the steering wheel and wrapped his fingers around Greg's, letting his left hand take control of the wheel. "If that's what you want."

David pulled to a stop into Greg's apartment complex and parked in front of his building. The early morning sky was ripe with the milky rays of orange and peach washing out the indigo darkness and the stars. David ended up knocking over the boxes in the middle to see Greg completely, not just his hand.

"Are you sure that you're fine coming with me?" Greg asked. "It just feels like I'm asking a lot here."

"What? No, no, definitely not. I'm happy to go. I know how much Papa Oslav –"

"Papa _Olaf_," Greg said.

"Right, I know how much Papa Olaf meant to you. I feel… incredibly privileged that you would want me there. Honored, even," David said. He looked Greg in his eyes and leaned closed. "I would do anything for you, because…"

And then his throat tightened, his tongue a knot. He fought against himself to force his mouth to form words, but Greg disrupted the fight by closing the space between them. He pressed his lips to David's, slowly interlocking them together. When he pulled away, David could taste his breath and see the morning light flood the contours of his irises. He brought his hand up to the back of Greg's neck, weaving his fingers into his smooth, soft hair, and pulled their lips together again, licking and sliding his tongue against the rough buds of Greg's.

"Do you want to come upstairs?" Greg asked.

"We really should get some sleep," David said. Greg kissed him again. "I mean, we've got so much to do on top of work." Greg kissed his jaw, just below his ear. "Packing… planning…" Greg's lips kissed the tender skin of his neck, and David shuddered as a quick lash of tongue flicked his sensitive collarbone.

David threw Greg down on his bed, and crawled over his body. Greg leaned up into his kiss, and David lowered himself over him. He felt Greg's hands tugging and pulling at his belt, and his own fingers nimbly unbuttoned his shirt. Greg slipped his shirt right over his head, and for a moment they looked each other in the eye. And then, just like that, the mood shifted. Their carnage softer, each rough push a gently caress now.

David ran his hand down the tight skin and soft hairs of Greg's chest, down to his stomach, and he closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of the miracle beneath him. Greg's hand stroked him as he yearned for the younger man's affection. He kissed him relentlessly, desperately. He needed Greg more than he liked to let on, and Greg never minded his indulgences. Greg rolled over and David came down over him, wrapping his arms under Greg's and gripping his shoulders. He kissed him between his shoulder blades, and on the back of his neck.

"I want you, David," he whispered. "I need you."

Greg moved underneath him, ground his back against David. And David wasn't nearly strong enough to resist, especially when Greg was asking him. And David only wanted to give his lover every pleasure he desired.

He slowly pushed into Greg, an inch at first, and then pulling out and going two, then pulling out and pushing three inches in, repeating the pattern until he had completely immersed himself inside of his partner and Greg moaned with ecstasy. He felt complete with Greg, and when he was inside of this glorious man he felt their flesh conjoin, all colors and sensations meshed.

Greg turned onto his back, wrapping his legs around David's waist as he pushed deeper. He wrapped his arms around David's neck and moaned into his ear, telling him that he never wanted him to stop. Greg told him that he never wanted to know anyone else like this again, that he never wanted to forget the feel of David's touch.

David's hand shot up and gripped the top of Greg's headboard, squeezing until his knuckles turned white as he grunted. A milky ecstasy, mingling inside of and becoming a part of Greg.

David lay with Greg for a while, stroking his skin as they rested on their sides with Greg's back against his stomach. He held Greg close, gripping his hand.

"I meant what I said," Greg said.

"What did you say?" David asked earnestly. He'd been so wrapped up in making love to the man he loved more than anything else in the known universe that he was afraid he might have missed something.

"That I never want you to go anywhere," Greg said.

David lifted his head from his pillow and propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at Greg.

"I'm sorry if I seemed pushy a couple of days ago," Greg said. "I don't need PDA to feel special or anything. I don't even care if you come out at work. I don't care if we never come out. All I want is you, David."

David stared down into his boyish face and his tired eyes. He smiled down at his incredible Greg as his own guilt ate him up from the inside out.

"I'm not going anywhere," David said. He placed a soft, chaste kiss on Greg's forehead and held him close. "I'll be right here, always."

And with that promise, Greg fell asleep like a content toddler in a guardian's arms.


	2. 2: Cold

2. Cold

David wrapped his arms around his torso and let out a long breath through his mouth. He'd never been on a plane this long. The trip from Vegas to San Francisco was just fine; he'd made that one a couple of times already. California to Seattle was just fine as well. But the flight from Seattle to Oslo was a very long, long, long trip. Greg had slept through most of it. David rolled his eyes – lucky bastard could probably sleep through _anything_. But David was a bit to susceptible to the queasy uneasiness of the flight's dips and bumps that he couldn't close his eyes for more than two minutes without feeling the need to fight back the bile that built up in his throat. So he was just grateful that his partner felt bad enough about his situation to give up the window seat.

Greg was leaning over David now, looking out the window. The morning sky shown golden peach above the horizon sky and Greg's eyes were flared with a little boy's joy.

"I've never seen the ocean so blue," he said.

"Yeah, well that's the Atlantic for you," David said dryly. Greg tore his excited eyes away from the arctic view of the islands passing beneath them and looked tenderly into David's eyes with a pitiful smile.

"Are you feeling any better?" He asked. David snorted bitterly, the flight attendant glaring strangely at him as she walked by until David sneered and scared the poor girl away. "Would it help if I told you how glad I am that you decided to come?"

"No," David said, letting his mood simmer and bubble. Greg, however, found it hilarious.

"Come on, we're almost there," Greg said.

"And then it's just a luxurious eight hour ride to Veggie-Soy," David grumbled, shaking his head. "I can't believe you talked me into this."

"It's Vågsøy; you just mispronounced it because you're grumpy," Greg said with a smile. David glowered.

"I don't understand why you're so happy – this is supposed to be a funeral trip," David said.

Greg's smile faded a bit, and his affectionate stare fell, staring through David's chest. David immediately scolded himself for the comment.

"Look, I'm sorry – I didn't mean that," David said. Greg smiled, but it wasn't the same now. It was just a smile, not _his_ smile. He wrapped his arms around Greg's shoulder and pulled him close. "I'm sorry, that was a dick move on my part. Can you forgive me?"

"You have to be really nice to me for the rest of the trip," Greg said. David smiled and rubbed his shoulder.

"I promise," David said. He looked out the window and savored the feeling of Greg's warm frame in his embrace. No matter how nauseous David felt – and he was nauseous – feeling Greg at his side, in his embrace, could cure anything. He may even write to the American Cancer Society to have them test his hugs on terminal patients just to see if Greg's affection could cure their afflictions as well.

"So, tell me about Veggie-Soy. What's it like?" David asked, trying to lighten the mood for Greg's sake.

"I don't know," Greg said. He sighed contently against David's chest and stared out the window into the hues of the light sky. "I've never been."

"But I thought that you were close to your Mama and Papa Olaf?" David asked curiously.

"Well, that was before they moved back to the 'Hjemlandet'. I haven't seen them in years," Greg said. "Papa Olaf kept asking me to come see the farm, said it had been in the family for generations. But I never had the time. 'But this year,' I said, 'this year I will make the time'. Now he's dead, and he won't know that I ever made the trip to see everything he wanted me to see. And that's just… sad."

David squeezed Greg a bit as his lover began to bring himself down. He wanted to take Greg's mind away from sorrow, and an idea flicked on inside of his head.

"Hey, why don't I teach you some Norwegian phrases?" David asked.

Greg sat up and pulled away from him, glaring at David with the strangest look he'd ever given.

"_You?_ What do you know about the Norwegian language?" Greg asked.

"The essentials. I've been studying up on them to be prepared when we go exploring the town," David said.

"Okay, teach me something."

"Skolebrød," David said. Greg furrowed his brow with a surprised grin on his lips.

"What's that?"

"School Bread – it's a type of pastry," David said.

"Okay, something else," Greg said.

"Rømmegrøt," David said.

"And what's that?"

"It's… another pastry," David said.

Greg laughed, filling the moment up with his light. David loved the feeling of being able to make Greg laugh. No accomplishment or accolade in his career ever came quite as close to the feeling he got just by knowing that he was responsible for even a moment of Greg's happiness.

"The essentials, huh?"

"I just needed to know what I'd be eating between hot monkey-sex," David said. Greg shook his head and chuckled. He settled back into Greg's side and closed his eyes.

"Thanks for being here," Greg said in a low, tired whisper.

"Of course," David said. He opened his mouth to continue, but his jaw tightened up and a queasy feeling rolled in the pit of his stomach. "Happy to be here." He managed to get that much out of his mouth, but the moment had turned sour for him as that wasn't at all what he wanted to say.

"David, we're here," Greg whispered. David stirred a bit, lifting his head and glancing around. His nose and ears had lost most their feeling hours ago, which he knew was probably going to lead to him _losing_ them. He knew that Norway was going to be cold, but not _this_ friggin' cold! Even bundled in a long pea coat, gloves, and a scarf, nothing could seem to keep out the bone chill.

The cab had stopped in front of a very old, beaten down farm. David looked around the frosty fields. There wasn't another house around in sight, just tall firs all around.

David grabbed their bags out of the trunk while Greg paid the driver. As the car drove off, David looked down at Greg at his side and smiled back at his partner. But as the screen door from the house squeaked a few yards up the path, and Greg's excitement flared up, David froze in his spot as he came to a sudden realization; something he'd somehow overlooked during all of his planning and preparing.

_Oh, God. I'm meeting his family._

Greg ran up the path to greet a young lady who'd just emerged from the house and flipped on the porch light.

_I'm meeting his family… As his…_

Well, David didn't know just what he would be to Greg on this trip. Somehow David doubted that Greg had mentioned anything about being in a homosexual relationship to his estranged family around the world. Somehow he figured that detail probably wasn't really something that would pop up during their phone calls. But did they know? What would they think of David? It was one thing to be judged by their co-workers, but by strangers? More importantly, Greg's _family?_

_Oh, God. I'm meeting his family._

He realized that he was beginning to hyperventilate, and quickly picked up his bags form the moist soil beneath his feet and quickly traipsed after Greg to shake the dread that was beginning to flood his body.

"Svana!" Greg ran happily up the porch steps, dropped his bags and picked up the young woman, swinging her around. They laughed together. David felt a little more at ease to see Greg enjoying his first moments.

"I'm so happy that you're here," Svana said. Her eyes fell on David as he stepped into the light. He smiled – uncomfortably – as she sized him up. He didn't want to know just what kind of assessments were running through her mind.

"Who is this?" She asked.

"This is the man that I've been telling you about," Greg said. "David, meet Svana. She's my first cousin on my mother's side. Svana, meet David."

She reached out her hand warmly, and David shook it gingerly.

"You were right about his eyes," she said.

"Right about what? What about my eyes?" David asked suspiciously. Greg smirked and patted David's back.

"Nothing, just something that had come up during idle chit-chat," Greg said.

Svana stepped aside and ushered them inside the house. Greg stepped inside first, and David followed sheepishly. He looked around. The walls were literally covered form ground to ceiling with picture frames.

"Greg, why don't you come with me to the kitchen and David can take your bags up to the guest room," Svana said. "It's just up the stairs, the second door to the right."

David smiled courteously and stared after them as they walked down the hallway, talking and laughing. He didn't appreciate getting stuck with all of the labor of carrying their bags upstairs, but he huffed and picked up Greg's bags first. David walked up the stairs quietly, surveying the upstairs hallway and checking out his surroundings. The first door on the left was the bathroom. Good to know. The first door on the right was closed, though a knitted plaque reading 'Mama & Papa' tipped him off enough. The second room on the right was a very modest guest room.

David stepped inside and took a quick look around. On the east wall there was a twin sized bed, and on the north wall a large four pane window. He sat Greg's bags down and sat on the bed. Well, it was definitely firm. His back may survive the trip yet. He laid back and stared up at the water-stained ceiling, which looked as though it hadn't been scrubbed in at least a decade. That sent David's skid crawling and he sat up.

He noticed the second left door across the hallway, crack a bit. He stepped across the hardwood floor and pushed the door open, looking around. An entire room dedicated to plaques mounted with antlers and deer heads. Some plaques had buck heads as big as half of David's body with eerie black beady eyes. Other mounts were just antlers sticking out of the wall, some longer than David's arm length. The room gave him a dark feeling in the pit of his gut as all of this strange death was staring back at him. Strange because they still looked very much alive.

He turned around to leave and screamed at the horrific shadow standing in the doorway. What stood out at first was the large fanned mane of feathers, and big soulless eyes above a sharp-toothed frown. It was a mask, something beaked like an eagle but painted over to look like some twisted crying demonic whale or something sinister. The figure dropped David's bags at his feet and then turned, vanishing form the doorway. David hesitated to even go near the doorway to grab his bags, but eventually he leaned out into the hall and glanced around. Gone.

A sandy head popped up the stairs as Greg made his way up to the second floor.

"Come downstairs, I want you to meet my Mama Olaf," Greg said.

"Have you _seen_ the Dahmer Shrine in there? It looks like the place that fathers bring their kids when they want to turn them into serial killers down the road," David said.

"Papa Olaf was an avid hunter," Greg said. He shrugged it off. Of course he did. But David couldn't.

"We are going to be sleeping across the hell from that room!" David hissed.

Greg laughed and snaked his arms around David's waist. "I was under the impression that there would be much _sleeping_."

Greg finally took David serious after David's chagrin deepened and his pale complexion began to turn rosy.

"Look, just put it out of mind for now. I'm on my family's farm, with my _family_, and I want you to experience this with me," Greg said.

David bobbed his head to the left, and then to the right as his body followed suit like a snake of debate. Finally he shook the room out of his mind for Greg's sake and put on a smile.

Greg skipped down the stairs like a little boy on Christmas. David followed behind slowly, the weight of his fear of judgment dragging his ankles down like a bloated drowning victim. His palms grew cold and sweaty, and his face sallow. He followed Greg down the downstairs hall, making a sharp left at the end into the kitchen

Yellow wallpaper. The first thing David saw when he walked in was garish, sickeningly yellow wallpaper. And of all the only decrepit wood and paper in the rest of the farm, this one had to be brand new – bright, blinding, brand friggin' new yellow wallpaper.

"Come, meet our grandmother," Svana said, breaking his attention by grabbing his arm and pulling him to the dining room table where there sat a bitter old woman. A bitter, calloused old woman. This visit just kept getting better.

She stared at him with a scowl permanently slapped to her face. Her large, milky eyes bore into him like a vulture, and her hollow cheekbones narrowed off into her pointy chin.

Svana said something in Norwegian to Mama Olaf, and she murmured something in return, eyes never off of David.

"She says that you're welcome to stay here," Svana said.

"Ask her what she's going to do with the murder room," David said. "I know a guy who can install a leather dungeon if she's looking."

Greg elbowed him in his ribs – bruising, David noted – and quickly told Svana not to translate that, explaining that it was a joke.

Then the calm, tranquil zombie that was Mama Olaf grew livid and started spouting out a slew of words, pointing at David with her skeletal digits. He noticed how long and jagged Mama Olaf's nails were, golden and crusted – most likely a tinea fungus. He took a quick step back and brought his hands up just in case he needed to swat away a lunged attack. Greg put a hand on his shoulder and used the other to rub him chest to calm him down. David couldn't resist Greg's touch, and he did calm down, but he remained alert enough to make a quick dash.

"What is that? What's she saying about me?" David asked Svana. The girl looked at him awkwardly, shuffling from foot to foot.

"Why don't we just go upstairs and start unpacking?" Greg asked. He basically pushed David out of the kitchen as David stared right back into Mama Olaf's with a matching sneer. When they reached the banister of the stairway, Greg pulled David close and tried to capture his attention. Once David locked onto Greg's, he took a few deep breaths and calmed down.

"Are you all right?" Greg asked.

"Murder room, and a batty old lady – I'm beginning to understand why we're here," David said with a scathing bark.

He quickly regretted the comment once he remembered that they weren't talking about a murder investigation. This was Greg's family, and he saw how much that assessment had cut his partner.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to antagonize your grandmother like that," David said.

Gregg patted his chest and pulled David into an embrace.

"Look, don't worry about it. She's a lonely old woman who just lost her husband. She probably feels weird and defensive with a stranger being present during her most vulnerable moments."

"Thanks for the excuses, but I really was acting like a jerk," David admitted. He placed a quick kiss on Greg's forehead before pulling away. "I promise to behave during the rest of the trip."

"It'd feel strange if you did," Greg said.

David shook his head in confusion and mild bemusement.

"So you brought me here to be _crabby_?" He asked. Greg laughed and pinched his cheek.

"It's one of the qualities I find cute about you," he said. And as adorable as Greg was when he looked up at him and patronized him, David still swatted his hand away. Greg simply laughed.

"Hey, uh, I've been meaning to ask you – does your family know exactly _who_ I am?" David asked. "I mean, aside from your friend and co-worker? Do they know…?"

"Svana knows," Greg said. "I talk to her about everything. We've been really close since I was seven. She moved back to Norway with her parents when I was fifteen, but we still talk on the phone all the time."

"And you talk about _me?_" David asked. He felt a little flattered and a bit worried as well.

"We talk about everything from relationships to dishwasher tablets," Greg said.

"So that comment about my eyes – what did you say to her?" David asked shiftily. Greg laughed.

"You don't like being the topic of conversation, do you?" Greg asked playfully. "Afraid that I might be painting a shady picture of you behind your back?"

"Greg, I'm begging you – what does Svana think of me?" He asked.

"I think you're wonderful, and she says if I think you're wonderful then she thinks you're wonderful," Greg said.

David laughed sardonically at that rhetoric. Then he saw Svana's slender frame emerge from the kitchen with an apologetic smile on her pouty lips.

"I'm so sorry about that, David," she said. "She's just very tired, you know. The thought of having to keep up this place on her own has taken a lot of energy from her."

"It's fine. Let bygones be bygones, I say," he said. At least on this occasion he would put that motto to practice.

"Greg, can I speak to you alone?" She asked.

"Say no more," David said with a gracious bow of his head. "I'll go upstairs and start unpacking and you can join me there when you're done."

Greg thanked him with a sincere smile. David made his way up the stairs and into the guest bedroom, ignoring the room of torture across the hall. He hoisted his suitcase up onto the mattress and began filling up the empty dresser next to the closet with his neatly folded clothes.

Then he heard Greg's voice rise a little in excitement: not the good kind. David sat down the shirt he'd been placing on a hanger and quietly made his way down the hallway, near the stairs.

"How can she know that she doesn't like him if she just met him?" Greg asked.

"She says that he'll steal your light," Svana said.

"Now it all makes sense," Greg said. "This is more than just about Papa Olaf."

"She says that you're the last one," Svana said.

David sat at the top of the stairs, quietly, and stared down at the scene; Greg leaning against the wall and Svana with her hands on her hips.

"She said that she had hoped to convince you to stay here during this trip, but that David has ruined everything," Svana said.

"I can't believe her," Greg said. But he wasn't angry. He just seemed completely amused and found the situation comical. "Even if David wasn't here with me, I wouldn't stay. I have a life and a career; I can't just drop everything for the pursuit of exploring some inherited 'power' on a dairy farm."

Svana laughed with him and gave him a hug.

"I'm sorry that she reacted that way," Svana said. "But I'm sure that David and Nana will warm up to one another."

"I doubt it, but thanks for the optimism," Greg said.

David arose slowly and made his way back to the room. It was only a moment later that he heard Greg's light footsteps enter the room with him. He heard the door close behind him. As David leaned over his suitcase, Greg's warm arms wrapped around his stomach and chest form behind.

"I think I sense a bad mood coming on," Greg whispered.

"Bad mood? Who's in a bad mood?" David asked lightly. He was just grateful that Greg couldn't see his face; he was having a bit of trouble hiding his mood in that area. "I am just fine."

Greg leaned around David's body and looked down at what David was up to, and then rubbed David's chest to prepare him for the interrogation coming his way.

"Why are you wearing rubber gloves?" Greg asked. "And why is there a cleaning kit in your bag?"

"Have you _seen_ this room? Just take a look around and there's your answer," David said.

"You brought a cleaning kit to my grandparents' house even before you'd seen the room," Greg said.

"Farm – your grandparents' _farm,_" David corrected him. "Dust, grime, and weevils – I do not want to have dreams of creepy crawly things because real ones are wiggling their way under my clothes in my sleep."

"David," Greg said his name tenderly, and a little bit humorously, and closed the cleaning kit. He sat on the bed and pulled the latex gloves off of David's hands, much to his older lover's dismay. "I thought that this would be as much a vacation for you as it is for me, not just a funeral. Family bonding, that sort of thing."

"Family bonding?" David spat mockingly. "I'm sure that's not what Mama Olaf had in mind when she saw me walk into that kitchen."

"That's a long story, and it's got nothing to do with you in particular – not really," Greg said. David mumbled a very heated disagreement under his breath. "If I had known that you would be this miserable here on your first night I wouldn't have pressured you to come. I'm sorry I asked."

Great. Now Greg was feeling guilty over David's problems, which always made David worse than when he'd actually done something wrong. Because it was him who had Greg blaming himself, regretting that David came along.

"If you want, we can leave right after the funeral tomorrow," Greg said. He looked at David hopefully, waiting for his scorn or his praise. But David closed his suitcase, sat it on the floor, and took his place on the bed next to Greg. He took Greg's cheek into his palm, the touch of his soft skin over sturdy bone like a satin-draped Michelangelo's David. All anger and moody stewing had left David's body through every pore when he looked into Greg's eyes, framed by thick lashes.

"We're not going anywhere tomorrow," David said. Greg seemed to perk up at David's permission to stay, as though he'd been seeking it the entire time even though he didn't need it. "We're going to stay in this house for the next few days, we're going to hear a bunch of crazy Norwegian family stories and tall tales, we're going to get to know your heritage and we're going to love every moment of it."

And just like a light switch, Greg's miraculous smile returned to his face and David sighed with relief.

"I think you are the most amazing man I've ever met, David Hodges," Greg said. "Despite your natural instincts to rant, rave, and get as far away from this place as humanly possibly, you're willing to put up with it for me."

"Always," David said.

Greg let his hand rest on David's thigh as he leaned in to kiss his partner with all the affection Greg possessed. It was so warm, so pure, that his kisses always seemed to leave him stunned, dazed and breathless. David deepened the kiss by leaning into Greg and tilting his head to one side so that he could savor the taste of his young saint. He tangled his fingers into Greg's hair to keep them locked.

Greg leaned back on the bead, resting his head in his pillow as he pulled David by hand to rest over him. David was drunk on every sweet breath, every whimper and moan, and every firm grip and embrace Greg's arms and legs would have on his body. His body was white hot in the cold wintery room, their breaths joining the hot wispy tendrils of steam coming from their bodies. They held each other tight under the covers as clothes were discarded like rags into the floor. And Greg, as always, was the one begging David to go further. David lived for those moments, just knowing that Greg wanted every inch and ounce of his being as much as the first time.

The light sensations of Greg's fingers trailing from David's neck to the small of his back felt like the light, pure touches of a shower. This light touch met with the firm and rough grips of Greg's palms as he kept pulling their bodies together. As bruising as it could sometimes be, David pulled back because he and Greg could never be close enough in his opinion. When Greg's tongue wasn't writhing in ecstasy inside of David's mouth, his lips and teeth would be nibbling on his ear lobes in fondness, breathing hot moist air against his cold skin.

And when he pushed himself inside of Greg, carefully as only a lover could, he could the tight sensations to be even warmer than usual – maybe from the cold night air, maybe from this passion between them. Greg gasped and moaned, biting his bottom lip as David watched his face; his eyes were closed, and his lips were parted. His jaw would move only slightly as he groaned, and when he asked David to keep going he couldn't help but oblige.

The hazy silver mist outside the large window cast Greg's face in pale light as it reflected the moon, and David wondered, even now as he thrust himself inside of such unequivocally exquisite beauty, just what it was that Greg saw in him that no one else seemed to be able to see. Greg's arms wrapped even tighter around his shoulders and his moans rose in tone and pitch as his body shuddered beneath him. David felt Greg's warm, slick and thick essence poll between them, and David stopped as he felt more and more pour form Greg's throbbing stirs.

After Greg's body relaxed a bit and he finally opened his eyes, he found David's amused smile staring back at him.

"That doesn't happen very often, at least not without my _helping hand_ in the equation," David said, not bothering to hide his self satisfaction at this accomplishment. "What set you off this time?"

"You," Greg said. "I guess you just opened up a different side to me that I found very arousing."

"The 'grin-and-bear-it-for-his-boyfriend' Hodges?" David asked jokingly.

"Just stop talking and keep going," Greg said. David quirked a curious brow.

"Aren't you finished?"

"It's not about sex," Greg said. "I just need you to keep going. I want you to finish – I need you inside of me."

David wondered what had kept his mood so passionate post-coitus, but he pushed inside again and again as Greg stroked his hair and face. David locked his lips onto Greg's ignoring the strange slimy feeling between their torsos that was really just distracting more than arousing or disgusting. But as his hot elation and bliss grew and grew inside of his chest and loins he forgot all about the mess between them and focused on the pleasurable feeling of pressure building up below until it finally released with a grunt and left him trembling on top of the object of his affections.

Greg kept stroking his head and hair as David caught his breath.

"I think it's time for a shower," Greg said. David laughed; that was an understatement.

The shower was just as much a part of the passion experience with Greg as the sex was, but unfortunately there wasn't much hot water to be shared as it ran completely cold in less than five minutes. But he stood there with Greg in his arms, letting the water beads run down their bodies long after the water had been turned off.

David woke up with a jolt. He couldn't even remember having a dream; something just woke him up with a violent tremble shooting through his freezing body. Greg stirred for a moment, and David braced himself to see if he'd woken Greg up with him. But Greg didn't make a sound and curled back up, burrowing deeper into the blanket. David relaxed with relief and slowly crept out from underneath the covers to go find some warm clothes to bundle himself in. Back in Vegas, he could sleep in his boxer-briefs with Greg in his bed and that would keep him warm enough. In Norway during December, however, that was not the case. David found a pair of seats and a tee-shirt, clumsily slipping on a pair of socks mid-step as he made his way to the window to look out over the fields in the night. The moon seemed far away here, and the cold wintry air kept the land misty. But the moonlight wasn't the only light to be found.

Down in the yard, three figures walked along the frozen soil. Two figures held burning torches, those freaky bird-whale costumes. One led, and one fell behind, while the middle figure draped in a black cloak held its head low as its long, straight white hair fell down its back.

The middle figure stopped, and the others stopped with it. The black robed figure lifted its head and looked up into the guest bedroom window, directly at David. He could see Greg's grandmother's features, but only barely as her entire face was painted black and white, fashioned after a skeleton. Her cold, milky stare vanished when she turned her head and they continued on their way.

David froze, partly from being caught in her eerie sight but mostly wondering what the hell Greg's Mama Olaf was up to out here in Old Norse country.


	3. 3: Seven

3. Seven

David adjusted his tie over and over again, but somehow the knot just never seemed to keep that triangle shape. David had tied a Windsor knot hundreds of times, and now he couldn't even keep it from looking like a lump of coal was wedged inside. He groaned and yanked it off of his collar, starting over.

The bedroom door opened but David ignored it, opting to focus on the vanity mirror to get this damned knot looking just right. Greg appeared at his side in the mirror, and David gave up with a growl.

"I'd ditch the tie anyway," Greg said. David bunched up the tie in his fist and threw it on the ground. When he finally brought himself to turn and look at Greg, he was completely floored. His hair was combed back, his clothes ironed and crisp. His white shirt was fit to the contours of his frame and his black slacks left little to the imagination but much to be desired.

"Wow," David finally sighed. "You clean up nicely, kid. I wish that I looked half as good when I try to dress up. I also wish that I could tie a friggin' tie…"

Greg laughed. He grabbed David's shoulders and turned him to face the mirror. Greg picked up David's overcoat and wrapped it over David's shoulder. Then Greg reached into one of his own bags and fished out a long, grey plaid scarf. He draped it over David's shoulders and let it rest over his clavicles.

"My Papa Olaf gave this to me when I was thirteen. He told me that it was the first thing that he'd ever bought for himself. His father died when he was young, and his mother only made enough money to buy the bare essentials selling the milk from her two cows to the neighbors – never more than a few Kron's a week, which isn't even worth an entire US dollar. He said that he worked for a man chopping down five trees a day, cutting them into firewood pieces, and stacking them. Every day, all of that hard work for pocket change. Three weeks later, he said he'd earned enough to buy this scarf. But he didn't. He gave all of that money to his sister. She needed money for some writing competition."

"So how did he get the scarf?" David asked.

"His sister ended up winning. She became a published author. And years later, on Papa Olaf's first Christmas married to Nana, his sister gave him this scarf. She said that she'd tracked it down just for him to thank him for everything he'd done for her. He gave me this scarf so that I'd always remember that part of being a man is self-reliance, but the most important part is helping those who can't help themselves."

Greg ran his fingers along the lengths of it and looked up into David's misty blue eyes. "It looks good on you."

"Thanks," he said, still a little astonished that Greg would let him wear something so important to him on the day of his grandfather's funeral. "I'm honored. Really, I mean that."

Greg pulled him down by the scarf ends and leaned in to kiss him. It was a simple kiss, clean and pure. Just a brief brush of lips, but enough to speak a library of unspoken affections.

David looked out the window, into the darkness. Just light enough to outline details on the trees and wheat fields, but still as dark as early morning. He glanced down at his watch; just after 1 o'clock in the afternoon.

"When you invited me to Norway, you didn't tell me that there wouldn't any sunshine," David said.

"It's the winter here," Greg said. "The Solstice is only a few days away. During the winter, the sun never rises above the horizon because we're so high up on the globe. And during the summer, the sun never really sets, always hovering just over the ocean. So the most light you'll see is the sunlight just below the horizon, and that only lasts for a few hours."

"So you researched this enough to know the ins-and-outs, but still didn't give me any warning," David said.

"I just did," he said with a devious grin.

"So no vacation-tan for me, eh?"

Greg and David walked down the stairs and into the living room. David had tried to prepare himself for the full house, but he was still a big overwhelmed by the dozens faces in the family room. Children ran and chased one another, while adults, old and young, laughed and drank and ate.

"I didn't know that your family was so extensive!" David yelled above the noise.

"What can I say? They really love knocking boots!" Greg laughed. David snorted.

"Runs in the family, doesn't it?" He said with a wink. Greg lightly hit him on his chest. Once he caught sight of Svana across the room, he was gone in a flash and David was left standing alone, looking around with an awkward smile plastered to his face.

David backed up toward the wall to get out of everyone's way until his lower back bumped into something hard and cold. He thought it felt like a piano, perhaps a chest, until he looked down and saw a grey, bushy handlebar moustache attached to a pale grey face. David quickly stepped away from the body of Papa Olaf. The large man rested in a simple wooden casket covered in black lacquer. His casket was propped on four large blocks of ice to keep the body preserved. Olaf was draped in a light brown and white fur – a fox, or wolf. But the knuckles of his hands were just visible above the shoulder of the animal, and something else; black and silver. David lifted the edge of the fur slightly to see what Olaf had clutched in his hands; a dagger with a black and silver spiraled handle. David followed the sharp edges to the tip. Dark flakes remained along the edge – something that had been sloppily wiped off. Then his eyes fell upon strange contusions along Olaf's wrists. The same width on both arms; he'd been bound prior to death.

"I see you've met Papa Olaf," Svana said. Her voice startled him so badly that his heart literally ached. David glanced around for Greg, but his sandy-haired bucket of sunshine was nowhere to be seen.

"I thought Greg was with you?"

"No; he made the mistake of accepting a drinking challenge," Svana said.

David shook his head, trying to imagine just what kind of Greg he'd be dealing with all day. Greg was a lightweight and didn't drink often. David had the feeling that his family was a bit more seasoned than he was.

"Why is his body _here?"_

"It's part of the tradition," Svana said. "It's called _Likferd_, an old tradition that goes back centuries. It means the _journey of the corpse_. The body of the deceased goes on its last journey with friends and relatives. We carry them from the home to the churchyard. This gathering is called _Fønnekveld_ – our neighbors and friends bring food and drink, and we lay him out for everyone to say farewell and leave him gifts to take with him into the afterlife."

"Do you know who left him this knife?" David asked. Svana looked down at the blade in Papa Olaf's hands, and simply shrugged.

"It could have been anyone here," she said. She leaned in closer. "Maybe one of his nephews – they often hunted together. But that's not like any hunting knife I've ever seen."

"Nor I," David said. "How did he die?"

"A heart failure," she said. She looked down and emotion took her as tears filled her vision. "I'm sorry, excuse me."

David graciously nodded and stepped out of her way to let the girl go and grieve. He lowered the fur back over the corpse's hands and looked around at the scene. Maybe he could take the knife without anyone noticing and test it for blood? He couldn't prove that it was human, but if those dark flakes were blood then those marks on his wrists may lead to evidence of a CoD that wasn't a heart-attack.

Then David spotted Greg at a table near the bay window overlooking the front porch. He was laughing and smiling, and chugging a large stein as his newfound family cheered him on. And he remembered that here, he wasn't a CSI. He was just David Hodges, a man who was here to support his boyfriend during his time of need. He stepped away from Papa Olaf's body and went to find a drink of his own.

He walked into the kitchen. Svana had been leaning over the sink, crying, with Nana Olaf right beside her. As soon as David stepped into the kitchen, she looked up and gave him that same, dark, completely loathing stare. David simply stared back, neither moving. Svana finally looked up and panicked, wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her jacket.

"I'm sorry – I didn't want anyone to see me like this," she said.

"No, I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd come into the kitchen. I wouldn't have followed you if I did," David said. "I just, er – I'm not much of a beer person, so I was wondering if anyone could point me in a better direction."

"Say no more," Svana said. She sniffled and reached into the cupboard above the stove, grabbing a bottle of _Vikingfjord_, a Norwegian brand of vodka.

"You are my savior," David said with a grateful sigh. He even went through the motions of a mock-worshipping bow. Nana Olaf gave him one last snide look before leaving the kitchen and walking into the party.

Svana poured them each a shot and they clinked glasses before knocking them back. David coughed; it was a very potent proof, so strong that it burned the inside of his nose as he breathed out alcohol fumes. He was betting that he could blow his breath toward an open flame and become Godzilla.

"Greg told me how much it meant to him that you came all the way here for him. He's very thankful," Svana said. "I just wanted to add that I'm also very thankful that he has someone like you to watch after him. Family is very important as are our traditions."

"Speaking of traditions, let me ask you something; is there some crazy Norwegian tradition for family of the deceased to dress up in feathers and masks and walk around with their face painted up like a skeleton?"

Svana shook her head humorously. "No, not as far as I know."

"That's what I thought," David said.

"It sounds like you had a very interesting night," Svana said with a laugh. She poured another shot for the both of them and they endured the bitter burn on the back of their tongues as they ingested the powerful liquid relaxer.

"Well Greg's mentioned that your grandmother is thought to have 'psychic powers' and that Greg somehow has this gift, too. Is your grandmother into any kind of witchcraft stuff? Weird rituals, cutting open goats with daggers, and so forth?"

"No, no," Svana laughed. She looked at David with a child's amusement. What she must have thought of him, he could only imagine – and he didn't really want to open up that box of thoughts. "Nana isn't what we call a witch, but rather a _Spákona_, or a Seer, I think they're called in English. A witch is far different from a seer; witches are said to have descended from Valkyrie, and the Valkyrie blood gives them harmful magic. Witches are what you would call inherently evil to us. Seers only do good. Just look at Greg; he's nothing but goodness."

David was somewhat doubtful on Nana Olaf's pure heart, but he couldn't argue her point on Greg. He was the most decent human being David had ever met. They knocked back another shot.

"Svana!" Greg appeared in the kitchen doorway with a wide smile on his face. He stumbled a bit – already buzzed from the look of it. David chuckled at the thought of Greg walking all the way to the church without his help. "We're starting."

"Shall we?" She asked with a kind smile in her dark eyes.

David rose from his chair and offered his hand. Svana slipped her delicate fingers into his palm and hoisted herself up. When they emerged into the hallway, six pallbearers were already making their way out of the wide front door with the casket. Greg looped his arm into David's, and they were about to join the trail behind the casket when Nana Olaf stepped in the way. She looked at the scarf draped over David's shoulders, and ground her teeth with menacing eyes.

"Jeg ønsker ikke sin tilstedeværelse," she said, her hard scowl still focused on David.

"What did she say?" Greg asked, his brow heavy with the weight of his confusion and worry. Svana said something back, but the old woman shook her head and repeated the same phrase with sharper words. Svana turned regretfully to the two of them and looked up at David apologetically.

"She says that she does not want to feel his presence when they bury her husband," Svana said.

"What? Nana Olaf, I brought David there because I wanted him there for this moment. I wanted to experience this with him," Greg said, but his words fell on deaf ears. Svana was about to translate for Greg, but David raised his hand.

"No, it's fine," David said.

"No, it's not," Greg said.

"Svana, will you give us a moment?" David asked. Svana ushered Nana Olaf out the front door, but the woman stared at him all the way down the porch steps until the other guests blocked her view.

"David, I want you to be there with me," Greg said.

"Look, this is your moment with your family. I'm an outsider – and it's really none of my business anyway," David said. He grabbed Greg's shoulders and rubbed his arms. "I don't want to ruin this day for anyone if my presence is going to make some people feel uncomfortable."

Greg just stared back into David's eyes, reading something there that David couldn't even begin to fathom. He just wrapped his arms around David's shoulders, embracing him tightly, and then let go, leaving without a word.

David sat on the old wooden rocking chair on the front porch, overlooking the softly glowing skies. It was still dark, but there was a purple and green tint to some of it, glowing with scattered light from an unseen sun. The vodka had been coursing through his system for a while now, and he was completely relaxed. He didn't think he could possibly be more relaxed. The farm was a dead silent place, and the dim world was easy on the eyes. No worries, no strife, just him and his own calming thoughts.

That was until a dark shadow appeared at his side and scared him half to death. He scrambled out of the chair as it tipped over and he quickly jumped to his feet.

"I'm so sorry," Svana said. "I just seem to have a knack for surprising you."

David took a few deep breaths and then laughed it off.

"What are you doing back here? Is it over?" He asked.

"No, there's still a gathering afterward where the friends and family drink to his memory and tell stories of his life," Svana said. "I just wanted to see him put to rest."

Great, David thought. Greg would be drinking even more and he couldn't even keep an eye on him.

"I was wondering if you would like to walk me home from here?" Svana asked. "I'm sure it's better than sitting around here, isn't it?"

David had to hand it to her, she was right about that. But if he was going anywhere, he wanted to take that bottle with him. After what Greg's grandmother had been pulling, he deserved at least that much comfort.

He walked into the kitchen, and a distinctive smell caught his attention. He knew he'd noticed it earlier, but with everyone else gone now he could smell it much more. He followed the scent deeper into the kitchen, near the sink. Bleach. He checked underneath the sink; no bleach.

"David?" Svana appeared in the doorway and David smiled. Her grabbed the bottle off of the table and wished his stomach luck.

There was no real road to follow, just a path worn into the earth that cars and horses followed as guidance. As David and Svana walked in the chilly wind, passing the bottle back and forth, a few cars had passed by and honked at Svana, who smiled and waved back.

"Greg mentioned you having a degree of some kind?" David asked.

"I went to medical school to study animal medicine in Oslo," she said. "I received my degree ages ago. I was valedictorian of my class. I was always very proud of that, even though I chose to live here."

But why did you choose to live here? You could've done anything," David said. "I have a cousin who became a veterinarian. He was in the bottom ten percent of his class and he _still_ makes more annually than I do."

"I stay here because this is my home," she said. David looked around the vast land of… nothing. The smell of the salty sea rolled in with the breeze, and it probably didn't bother anyone used to it, such as Svana. But for David, a man with a particularly powerful and acute sense of smell, it burned his nostrils as badly as the vodka.

"Besides, my family needs me," Svana said. "My father needs me."

"Your father?" David asked.

Svana pointed up a hill to a small house with a porch light on. There was a barn to its right and an old Volvo parked out front.

"I live there with him," she said. "He can't speak for himself, you see. When I was a girl, he and his brother Yolav – Greg's father – went on a hunting trip. But when they returned a few hours later they carried only blood and panic with them, not deer. The story was that Yolav had spotted a deer out of the corner of his eye and reacted, not realizing until it was too late that my father was walking into his line of sight. His rifle shot through my father's face, shattering his jaw and destroying seven molars as the bullet shot through his cheeks. The entrance wound left only a hole; the exit wound had taken nearly half of his face. The bullet shot his tongue out of his mouth as well. He was very lucky to survive, but it has left him unable to speak for himself."

"You have a very kind soul," David said. "It's so uncanny how much the two of you are alike."

"Well, we did grow up together," Svana said. "I remember our favorite show was _Little House on the Prairie_."

"Please tell me that you're joking," David said, taking a swig of the bottle as she passed it back to him. "That show was pure dreck! Michael Landon couldn't act his way out of a nut-sack!"

Svana laughed with him. "Still, we seemed to love it. I remember us making a game out of it when we were seven years old, but it was really very boring. Our bunk bed was the house, and we would prop up books on their spines and pretend that the pages were the crops. So we would harvest the 'book corn', or go and gather water from the towel river."

"I have no idea how Greg survived such a repressed and mundane childhood," David said.

"He's special," Svana said.

"I know that," David said. They walked up the slope to the house and Svana stopped suddenly.

"Can I ask you something personal?" She asked. David shrugged. "Do you ever find yourself holding back from Greg?"

"In what way?" David asked. Svana walked up to him and took the bottle from his hands.

"Establishing a future with him," Svana said. "It's easy to see that something is always looming over your head when you're with him, like there's a dark cloud that will never go away. Something holding you back. Greg's seen it too, and he's worried that he's doing something wrong to push you away."

"He never does anything wrong," David said. "It's me. It's always been me."

"You're not certain that Greg will feel the same way a few years down the road," Svana said.

"I'm forty-six years old, Svana. I'm going to be fifty years old in just a few short years and he'll only just be on the verge of forty," David said with chagrin.

"You're worried that he'll realize that he's missed out on options and still missing out on choices by committing to you. And you don't want to risk taking that away from him," she said.

"Yes, how did you know?" He asked.

"I don't know," Svana said. "Intuition."

"What if he wants kids?" David asked. "I don't want kids. In four years he could change his mind, and I'll be old enough to be a grandfather."

The fact that he was old enough to be a grandfather now didn't make him feel any better.

"What if he decides that he should've found someone his age after all? What if he's ridiculed for being in an intergenerational relationship?" David reached for the bottle, and Svana handed it over without any resistance. He took a long swing and forced himself to swallow before coughing like a coal miner. "I'm constantly thinking that I'm pulling him away from something better. And what if I am?"

"Then it's Greg's choice," Svana said. "You can't force him to do anything that he doesn't want to. If he misses out on choices in the end then he has no one to blame but himself."

David let those words sink in.

"Let me ask you something; has he made any indication that he misses being single?"

"No," David said. "In fact, he wants to move in together."

"There you go," she said. "You're making something out of nothing."

"I always do," David said. "I'm neurotic and paranoid and always grumpy about something, even when there's nothing to be grumpy about. Somehow Greg looks past all of that. I think he takes care of me more than I take care of him."

"I think that you two are _Elskende_," she said.

"Elk-what?"

"Elskende, it's a Norwegian word to describe two people who complete each other's souls," Svana said. "One soul split apart into two pieces that eventually comes back together."

"Ah – soulmates," David said.

"I lost my other half a long time ago, but you have a chance to keep Greg," Svana said.

David looked up, about to ask her more about her past, when his eyes caught a figure just beyond her face, standing in the barn. One of the masked and feathered people he'd seen last night. Svana must have seen the alarm in his eyes. She looked over her shoulder, but the figure had already stepped into the shadows of the barn.

"Did you see something?" She asked.

"There's someone in the barn," David said. "Wearing some kind of costume."

Svana nodded and started walking toward the barn. David grabbed her arm to stop her and she laughed.

"I'm not joking," he said.

She pulled out of his grip and once against resumed her path toward the barn. He followed her – he had to protect her in a worst-case scenario, after all – and stopped beside her at the mouth of the barn. The shadows inside concealed any-and-everything.

"Kommer ut av skjul," Svana said. "Det er alt rett, far. Han er en venn."

Out of the shadows stepped the toothed bird-man.

"David, this is my father, Jolfund," she said. She reached up slowly, and Jolfund twitched away but Svana shook her head and whispered something to him. She was able to grab the mask and remove it from his face.

David could see exactly why he was hesitant to remove the mask. Svana's story of that hunting accident was no lie. The right half of Jolfund's face had a circular and puckered scar where the entrance wound had closed and healed. But the left side of his face was mostly gone. The teeth he had left and gums were bare, callused and thick from years of exposure. Scars reached outward like a spider web, fissuring down his jaw and up to his eye from where the skin had been torn and blown away from the flesh and bone.

"He's very shy," Svana said. "But don't let his face fool you; he's really very gentle."

"I'm sure he is," David said. He reached out his hand, and Jolfund reluctantly took his hand and shook it. "You've raised a very impressive young lady."

She translated, and he nodded more enthusiastically. The muscle tissue on the right side of Jolfund's face had been damaged, making a smile impossible, but David could see it in his eyes and that was enough to break the ice.

David opened his eyes to darkness. Of course he did – it was always dark. His head pounded, throbbing, and his eyes felt like they were going to pop right out of his head. He wiped the drool off of his chin as he sat up in bed and shivered. His nose and toes were like icicles. He looked down and noticed that he'd crashed in full clothing. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Greg sprawled out on the bed beside his empty space. He placed a kiss on his soft cheek, not really worried about waking him. Not if Greg drank as much as he suspected he had.

Then David knocked something over – a brown bottle that rolled along the hardwood floor. A bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

"Oh, crap," David said as he realized just what he'd done last night.

He could barely remember the details, it was all so foggy, but he could still remember stumbling down the hall into the kitchen after Svana's father had dropped him off at the Olaf farm. And that bleach scent was bothering him, and the yellow wallpaper had gotten on his nerves so much that he drunkenly decided to remove it. And when he tore away at the paper he caught the full impact of the bleach smell, all over the wall above the counter. And then he remembered that he had a small bottle of phenolphthalein from a field kit. And Nana Olaf just so happened to have a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in the bathroom cabinet. And that's when David did what he would regret if Greg woke up and saw.

David ran down the stairs as quietly as he could in the early morning hours and flipped on the kitchen light. He saw his mess – bright yellow wallpaper all over the floor and counter – and the bright purple-pink blotches on the wall from David's homemade Kastle-Meyer test. And sitting at the coffee table drinking a hot dup was Nana Olaf, glaring right at David as he stood in the doorway as still as a raccoon caught in a garbage can.

"I know this looks bad, Mrs. Olaf but I can explain," David said. He rushed by, sweeping up the wallpaper into scraps into his fists and bunching them up into the trash can by the back door. "I was drunk, and it was late, and it's really just a habit for me to start looking for crime scenes wherever I go."

Nana Olaf sipped her cup and glared right at him.

David stopped sweeping up the wallpaper scraps when his mind had caught up the facts. He looked at the kitchen walls and the floor where he's sprayed; where the bright reactions told him that there had been blood.

"I was right," David said, staring wide-eyed where a crime had most likely been committed. He heard Nana Olaf chortled and he glared right back at her. "Don't laugh, this is serious."

And then realization number two dawned on him and his eyes were fixed on the old woman.

"You can understand me," he said. Nana Olaf stared at him with her cold stare, but he couldn't be fooled now – she'd given herself away. She sat her cup of coffee down and sat back in her chair.

"I didn't kill my husband, if that's what you're thinking," she said.

"The evidence in your kitchen says otherwise," David said.

"You people; you come from your big cities throwing your judgments our way without turning the finger back on yourselves," Nana Olaf said. "You're ruining his future, you know that?"

"Why are there pools of blood on your floor and impact splatters all over your walls?" David persisted.

"I did _not_ kill my husband," she repeated firmly. "I found him here, lying in his own blood. I cleaned up the mess, and I told everyone it was a heart attack."

"No doctors or coroners even questioned his death? Wasn't there even an autopsy?"

"We are a small village on the outskirts of town; do you see any coroners?" She asked scathingly. "Besides, I know what killed him and I'm going to handle it myself."

"Oh yeah? And what killed your husband?"

"A witch," said Nana Olaf. "There is a witch among this community, and she summoned a demon spirit to kill my husband. The spirit took the form of a deer and killed my husband with its antlers."

David stared back with utter disbelief. He couldn't believe that this lady had just used a witch and a demon as her defense. She was nuts. The worst part was that he could see that she actually believed that story.

"What the hell?"

David saw Greg standing in the kitchen doorway, looking over bring pink stains and tears.

"Good morning, sweetheart," David said wryly.


	4. 4: Asleep

4. Asleep

Greg slammed the door. David shrunk when Greg turned the fiery gaze in his direction. Its heat was as tangible as a bonfire, so strong that David stumbled back and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling like a child in the corner.

"You turned my grandmother's kitchen into a _crime scene!"_ Greg said.

"I know what it looked like, but it wasn't like that," David said, his voice uneven with wobbly pitches.

"Then what's it like, David?" Greg crossed his arms and flexed his jaw as it bit down in anger.

"It was late, and I was drunk – and maybe I'm even a little home sick," David said. "But you've got to admit, the evidence is pretty clear –"

"Your 'evidence' is wrong," Greg said. "What does the Kastle-Meyer test detect?"

"Blood," David said smugly.

"And traces of _potatoes_, like the kind that would come up if someone had thrown a glass of vodka against the wall," Greg said.

David fish-mouthed a silent reply, because he had none. He glanced at the half-empty bottle of vodka on the bedside table. Just below the _Vikingfjord_ brand name read a simple line that he'd overlooked: _distilled from potatoes_. He looked up at Greg and put on his most convincing _I'm sorry and I promise to make this up to you_ grin.

"Greg," he began, but Greg threw his hands up and opened the door. "Where are you going?"

"I need some space right now," Greg said over his shoulder. David followed him out into the hallway and down the stairs, right out the front door.

"Greg, we can talk about this!"

But his words had been swept up in the breeze and Greg didn't look back.

David shook his hands through his hair with a growl and closed the front door behind him as he made his way to the kitchen. He looked at the bright pink blotches on the wall, where a glass _could_ have been shattered – it _did_ match the pattern, after all. And the spots where it _could_ have run down the wall, and _could_ have dripped off of the edge of the counter and onto the floor…

"Ah, hell," David said. He sat down at the table and put his head in his hands. He'd screwed up – royally so. All Greg wanted was a carefree getaway to be with his family and mourn in peace, and David had already accused his grandmother of murder two days into their stay. He let his head drop and bang onto the hard oak table and grunted. "Oww…"

He jumped at the sound of a cabinet door snapping shut. He lifted his groggy hung-over head and turned in his chair to the source of the noise. Nana Olaf had pulled a skillet out of a cabinet and was already grabbing eggs from her ice box.

"You're so squirrelly – always jumping," she said as she lit the pilot on the stove.

"Mrs. Olaf, I just want to reiterate just how sorry I am," he said. "But you did say that you found your husband dead in the kitchen–"

"Which I told you _after_ you had already accused me of killing my husband," she said. David bit his tongue and took a deep breath.

"I just got carried away last night, that's all," he said. "If you'd like I can pay to replace your… _lovely_ yellow wallpaper." He nearly vomited just by thinking of calling that ugly canary yellow anything remotely close to the word lovely. And his sour stomach wasn't helping as he glanced over what was left.

"Don't bother," said Nana Olaf. "I hated that wallpaper. After Papa died, Svana put it up to cheer me up. She's been trying relentlessly to keep me busy and keep my mind off of the facts, but the facts are that my Papa is dead and this house is now empty."

"I'm really sorry – about your husband's death, I mean. I didn't really have a chance to tell you until now," David said. Nana Olaf scraped the scrambled eggs out of the skillet and onto a plate. She sat the plate in front of David and then went back to the stove. "Thank you."

He was surprised. She was being a bit more hospitable than he'd expected her to be.

"Greg never mentioned that you speak English – rather well, too," David said as she handed him a fork. "Does he know?"

"I lived in America at a time, too, you know. Gregory was young when we left him, though. He may not remember whether or not I spoke English," she said. For a while, the only other sounds were the wind blowing against the house, the sweep of downy breeze and snow, the eggs frying in the skillet and of David's fork clanking against the plate.

"Svana tells me that Gregory wouldn't have come if you decided not to," Nana Olaf said. David looked up at her and stopped mid chew. Greg never told him that. He had assumed that he was coming to his grandfather's funeral whether David had come with him or not. "I just wanted to thank you for bringing him home to me."

She sat across from him at the table, sweeping her long straight white-blonde hair over her shoulder. Well, as long as she wasn't giving him that perpetual death-glare he could live with a cold shoulder.

"Mrs. Olaf, do you mind if I ask you why you had such a negative opinion of me when we first met?" David asked cautiously, glancing up from his plate in quick glances to gauge her reaction to the question. "Svana mentioned you saying something about me _stealing_ his _light_."

Nana Olaf sat her fork down and finally looked up at David.

"There are some things that you can't understand," she said.

"You mean things like painting some witchy skeleton on your face and wandering around in the middle of the night with weird bird-demon people?" David asked. "I saw Jolfund last night wearing that costume. So tell me what it is. Some kinky sex thing? Hey, if that's what it takes to get you off you can tell me, I have a pretty open mind."

"You spit in the face of sacred sights for someone so sanctimonious," she said. She narrowed her eyes into slits and snarled her upper lip. "I knew you once I saw you. I can see you for what you are."

"What, am I a demon, too?" David asked with an arrogant snigger.

"No, you're just pathetic," she said. "You are a weak, sad little man. Your fear of judgment and opinion keeps you weighed down by a dark cloud that rests on your shoulders. It's been there a long time. And if Greg waits around for you to finally give him the honesty he needs and deserves that shadow will weigh him down as well until it smothers him. And then all of the good he has to give to those who deserve it will be trapped in your shadow for the rest of his life."

"Well don't hold back, Mrs. Olaf – tell me what you _really_ think of me," David said sarcastically.

"I have nothing else to say," she said.

David pushed his plate away and rose from the table.

"Thank you for breakfast," he said. He walked out of the kitchen cursing the bitter old hag under his breath. He walked upstairs and closed the door behind him curling back up under the covers and berating the entire country of Norway for being so damned cold. He watched white flurry flakes fall against the darkened velvet sky and hit the window, sticking like little white fuzzy spiders.

He missed Greg. He felt completely guilty for upsetting him like he had, but more than that he was worried about him. He left without a jacket, and it was already freezing outside. David knew exactly how quickly hypothermia set in and its following stages. Add snow to that and it was a disastrous formula.

A light knock on the door woke David out of his nap. He hadn't even realized that he'd dozed off, he couldn't remember exactly when it'd happened. The sky was lighter, glowing soft green and pale yellow just over the treetops.

"Yeah," David said as he sat up and stretched, which quickly turned into a shiver. "Come on."

The door opened. He had been hoping to see Greg, but knew that he wouldn't knock so didn't keep his hopes up. When he saw Svana, he smiled halfheartedly and stood up to greet her.

"I was heading into Vågsøy and thought that you might like to come with me, in case you needed supplies and such," she said.

"Thanks, I'd like that," David said.

"I'll meet you downstairs. Say, fifteen minutes?"

"Make it five," David said. He couldn't get out of this house fast enough. He walked into the bathroom, flossed and brushed as quickly as he could, and then ran back into the room to change. Svana had already been standing by the door when David descended.

"Nana told me about your fight with Greg," she said.

"Yeah, it was my fault," David said. He blushed a bit as he recalled his antics.

"She told me that, too," she said. He sent a few more curses Nana Olaf's way in the back of his mind and followed Svana out the front door.

The country drive wasn't as relaxing to David as it might have been to other tourists who wanted to get away from the city. David happened to like the busy city. All he saw as Svana drove through the countryside was the tundra of snow, firs, and cows. Boredom and conformity incarnate as they passed farmers and roadside workers. But Vågsøy wasn't so barren.

The bustling port town was right on the coast. David glanced over the splendor of the water crashing upon the rock and stone, and the many houses and businesses running up the hills. The town had _four_ lighthouses; David hadn't even heard of any place having more than one. The main street was line with all kinds of places – including bakeries for David to put his studying to good use. Despite finally getting to see something worth making the trip, David still felt miserable.

When Svana looked over, she saw him sulking with his head against the window.

"Is something wrong?" She asked.

"I was hoping to check out the town and explore, have a good time and all," he said.

"So what's the problem?"

"I was hoping that Greg would be here to enjoy it with me," he said. Her pouty pink lips fell into a frown, matching his thin miserable lips.

"We don't have to stay if you don't want to," she said.

David rode around with Svana as she ran her errands. She would ask if he wanted to go somewhere – to check out a landmark, or a museum, or a market place – but he said no to everything she threw his way. He insisted that he would be fine if they just stopped at a mini market just so he could pick up some toiletries. The whole fight with Greg just wouldn't stop haunting him no matter what he did or where they went.

Svana parked on the curb just outside of a fish market.

"I'll be right back," she said. She looked him over again and meshed her lips together with worry. "Are you sure that you're all right?"

"Yeah, sure," he said.

"Listen David, I like you. I wasn't sure what to expect when I first met you, but I can see what Greg sees in you. You're a good man, and I'd like to call you a good friend some day," she said. "And I hope that you can call me the same. So if there's anything that I can do to let this mood pass over you then it's all right to tell me."

She unbuckled her seatbelt and left him in the car alone.

He figured he'd apologize for bringing down her mood on her trip into town when she got back. She didn't deserve to feel as miserable as he did, not after she'd been so nice to him since he'd arrived. He noticed a gift shop next to the fish market and figured it wouldn't hurt to go and take a look around at least _one_ store to make Svana feel a little less worried. He'll smile and say 'yeah, it was great – really cheered me up!' And voila; she'll feel accomplished.

He stepped into the shop and the bell above the door tolled, ringing his arrival for all of the other customers to hear. He walked around, looking at all of the rocks and stones and homemade shell jewelry displayed on glass shelves, wondering what souvenir said 'I'm sorry for being an ass'.

And just like that, David locked eyes on a miniature figurine, only six inches tall. Carved of wood and face painted with black and maroon lines. Its head was long and birdlike its face frames by a thick mane of white feathers. It reminded David of the little Native American carvings he'd seen in stores as a child. But this one was a different story because he'd seen the real thing.

He walked up to the counter where it sat beside the register like destiny had placed it there just for him.

"At föll eders øie, venn?" Asked the store clerk as the older blond man walked up to the register.

"I'm sorry, I don't…"

"Ah, English man," he said.

"American, actually," David said.

"Welcome to Vågsøy!" The older man laughed. "So, you like?"

"Er – yes, you have a very nice town," David said.

"Good! Good!" He chuckled again and patted David's shoulder over the counter, much to his dismay.

"I'm glad that you can speak English because I wanted to ask you a question about this figurine," David said. He held up the mini bird-man the clerk took it, turning it around in his fingers a couple of times. "I was wondering what this is, exactly."

"Vaktmann," said the clerk.

"I'm sorry?"

"How you say… Guard. Guard Man," he said, struggling for the right word.

"Guardian?" David suggested, and the man's face lit up like Christmas.

"Ha! Yes, Guardian!" He said with a deep laugh. "Vaktmann. He is guardian."

"A guardian of what?" David asked.

"Spákona," said the clerk.

"Oh – I know that word, it's, er – Seer, I think," David said. "So these _Vaktmann_ are protectors of _Spákona_. What do they protect her from?"

"Evil," said the clerk.

"You want?"

David shrugged. Why not? Couldn't hurt, and it'd led him to the information he'd been looking for. Those two people we'd seen with Greg's grandmother – Svana's father Jolfund and the yet-to-be-named second – were there to protect her. They believed that evil was after her, so maybe it wasn't such a bad thing for them to be near her. As long as they were watching out for a widow, there couldn't be any harm in that. Still, what worried David was the question that if it wasn't Nana Olaf who'd killed Papa Olaf, and those other two wannabe watchers were only there to protect, then who _did_ kill Papa Olaf?

Svana took David to lunch, and after his little visit to the souvenir store his mood did improve quite a bit. Maybe the figure wrapped up in the plastic bag in his coat pocket was also a good luck charm?

After spending four hours away from the farm, David was ready to see Greg and grovel for forgiveness. In fact, he was actually happy to see the farm when it came into view beyond the trees that surrounded its fields. David got out of the car and the house door swung open. Out ran Nana Olaf, hysterical. She ran to Svana, crying and shouting in Norwegian. Svana tried to calm her down. Jolfund stepped out of the house, long hair flowing freely and casting most of his face in shadow. Next to him was a younger man, thin and shorter than the other.

"What's going on?" David asked. Unfortunately the only two people who spoke English were so wrapped up in their conversation that his question had gone overlooked. He turned to Jolfund and the young man. David's eyes fell to their hands and noticed the hunting rifles in their hands.

"Svana, what the hell is going on here?" David asked.

"Someone has been in the house," Svana said.

"What do you mean someone's been in the house? Where's Greg?"

"Greg hasn't been back since he left. Nana's worried that something may have happened to him," she said.

"I _know_ something has happened to him!" She said. She looked David in his eyes and roughly tapped her chest. "I can _feel_ it!"

"Okay, well let's put the guns away and form a search party," David said, glancing at Jolfund and the other hunter. "The last thing we need right now is to find Greg and let a bullet accidentally go off."

Svana wrapped her arm around Nana Olaf's shoulders and gripped David's shoulder. "Come with me," she said.

He followed them up the porch steps and into the house. Svana walked Nana Olaf into the living room and sat her in her chair beside the fireplace, and then nodded her head for David to follow. She led him up the stairs and into the first door on the right, into Papa and Nana Olaf's room.

The smell was familiar; metallic and putrid. There was a bundle on the bed, twigs wrapped in linen straps and tied off. Svana walked into the bathroom across the hall and returned with a pair of scissors, snipping away at the linen pieces until she could open the bundle.

"What is that?" David asked as she pulled branch and bracken off of whatever had been left on the bed.

An ashy grey bird with crumbled wings lay inside the bundle. Its neck was bent in the middle in a sharp L, broken. Most likely the cause of death.

"It's a swan," Svana said.

"I thought Swans were white and… beautiful?" This one was disproportionate. It looked like, well, an ugly duck – just like the kid's story. He'd never really put much thought into whether that story was based in fact.

"It's a juvenile swan, still young, not yet flying among its elders," she said. "Now it never will."

"So… you think that this was some kind of threat by whoever placed it here? Like a good ol' fish wrapped in newspaper?" He asked.

"Yes, but not to Nana Olaf," she said.

"It was placed in her bed, why wouldn't it be a threat to her?" He asked.

"Because a fully grown white Swan would have been a symbolic representation of the leader of this community," she said. "But a young juvenile, this is obviously a threat to the life of her progeny."

"Your grandmother has a progeny? So, like, a Seer in training?"

"No, but she does have a young fledgling," she said. "This is a threat on Greg's life, David. Someone wanted her to know that her only descendant with her gifts is in their sights."

David heard Greg's name, and that was enough to send him down the stairs and out the door to join the hunters waiting outside. Papa Olaf's death, Greg's visit, it was all part of some plan – a power play. It appeared that Svana and Nana Olaf hadn't told David how much sway the grandmother played in the community. And someone wanted to remove her from that position. So they killed her husband and used his death to lure her young progeny – the only one left who could possibly take her place after she died – to kill him, to take him away from her.

To take him away from David.

Svana came out of the house after David.

"Don't go out into the woods – you don't know the area," she said.

"I'm not waiting here for you all to come back and tell me that you can't find him," David said. "Give me a gun – I want a gun."

"You don't need a gun, David," she said.

"Someone threatened Greg's life. If he's out there alone, he's at risk. I need a gun," he said.

"You need to calm down and keep a clear head," she said. She grabbed his shoulders and forced him to face her. "Greg is depending on you. If you don't keep a clear head then you may not find him – and if you do find him, you may not be able to protect him. You might be the one to hurt him. I think it would be best if you just stayed here."

"I would never hurt Greg," David said. "I want to help you look for him."

"Still, if you just waited here with Nana –"

"Svana," said the younger hunter. "La den mann komme."

Svana bit her lip and lowered her gaze. Jolfund reached for something in his belt and handed it to David. David took the shiny object, with a dark grip and a wide barrel. It was a flare gun. Jurke handed him a small mag-light, and David nodded his thanks.

"Just follow the road and don't stray too far," Svana said. "If you're leaving then I'll stay here with Nana."

"Thanks," David said, looking at each of their faces.

"If you find my cousin then fire the flare – my brother, Jurke, he will find you," she said. David glanced Jurke over – he'd been briefly mentioned before, by Sarah. She didn't seem to like what the guy did to deer. "Please, bring my cousin home."

"I will," he said. She patted his face and left the three men, tracing her steps in the thickening snow back up to the farmhouse.

Jolfund gripped David's shoulder and tilted his head toward the road, the tunnel under the cover of trees. They set out, snow and pine needles crunching under their steps. Jolfund and Jurke kept their rifled ready, raising it here and there whenever they would see a dark shadow. David saw a few bucks and doe scatter away through the trees as they walked in the darkness.

David spotted something that the other two hunters hadn't seemed to notice in the snow – shoe prints.

"I have something here," he said. He pointed his flashlight down at the print. Jurke pointed off into the trees, and said something to Jolfund. Jurke set off after the trail, and Jolfund was right behind him. But when David tried to follow pursuit, Jolfund turned and placed a hand against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

"All right, fine, I'll just stay here, clueless," David said dryly.

The move hadn't been aggressive or even harsh, and David understood that he was just keeping his safety in mind, but he didn't like being left out. Once Jolfund and Jurke were gone, he also didn't like being left alone on the side of a lonely road in the woods in a foreign country in the dark. Every time a noise would resound in the trees – a flitter of wings, or a rustle of branches – he would flash the light in the direction, but find nothing. The one time that he'd flashed his light across the road, where had been no sound at all, he saw a face.

Not a face, but a warped beak encircled by a halo of large, brown feathers and white eyes with large black, soulless dots at their center. Vaktmann. It stood in the shadows, just out of the full reach of his flash light. David crossed the road and gripped the flare gun in his fist, just in case these guardians weren't as pure as the clerk believed them to be. After all, they were Nana Olaf's guardians, but David was still fair game, and so was Greg. He slipped and fell right on his ass, dropping the flashlight. He quickly scrambled up to his knees and grabbed the flashlight, pointing through the trees toward the figure. Gone. He'd expected it to be.

He pushed himself onto his feet and wiped the wet snow off of his legs, and carefully treaded to the spot where they'd been standing, searching for foot prints to lead him to wherever they'd run off to.

"Oh, God," David said as fear rose from within.

What he found was blood. Lots of it. A few feet from where the person wearing the Vaktmann costume had been standing was a large, iron animal trap. It had already been sprung, and its teeth had sunk into something. The scene had remained untouched and uncovered by most of the snow due to the boughs above providing shelter. This provided a breadcrumb trail of blood and uneven footsteps.

Someone had been maimed and limped away from this. It could have been Greg. David had researched the area enough to know that there were wolves in this region of Norway. If Greg had been injured, bleeding alone in the woods… and a wild pack happened upon him in his lost and confused struggle…

David didn't want to think about it. He hurried along the trail, only finding small droplets here and there. That meant that most of the blood had been shed when he'd struggled out of the trap, but the bleeding wasn't much on its own. His feet slid a few times, but never enough for him to lose total balance.

Then he saw him. A shoulder sitting against the trunk of a tree, only half visible.

"Greg?" David called out. The body didn't move. He ran to the tree as quickly as he could and rounded the trunk, flashing the light down.

Greg. He wasn't moving. David fell to his knees and immediately gripped his face; his lips and ears had a faint blue tint. His face was pale, meaning that the surface blood vessels contracted as the body focused its remaining resources on keeping the vital organs warm. Greg was in a mild state of hypothermia. But alive. David checked his pulse to make sure that his heart was still strong.

Finally, Greg opened his eyes.

"David?"

"I'm here," he said. Greg smiled and went to move, but gritted his teeth and whimpered once he'd moved his right leg. David looked down and shed light over the wound.

"Don't move," David said.

"You came for me," Greg said. He smiled dopily, which David assumed was an effect of the hypothermia slowing down his blood flow and his brain inducing endorphins to keep panic at a minimum. Basically Greg was drunk on as much calm happiness as his body could supply to provide him with an easy death.

"Of course I did," he said. He took his overcoat off of his shoulders and draped it over Greg's body, rubbing his cheeks to get some blood flow back into his face. "Of course I did, of course."

Greg smiled again, probably not even aware that this was really happening. To him this was probably just another of the many dreams he'd probably had since falling asleep in the snow.

"I need you to focus," David said. "Tell me the last thing you remember."

He took the flare gun in both hands and pointed it up to the black sky, pulling the trigger and bracing himself against the shot. The sound was a muffled pop, not even a loud snap, followed by a long, fading hiss as it rose up above the trees like a bright red star in the night. David looked down at Greg, whose eyes had been looking up and following the flare with a serene calmness in his eyes. Then his lids began to fall again, as his eyes lost focus.

"No, no – Greg, don't go back to sleep," David said. He knelt beside him and placed a hand in the middle of his back. "I want you to try and move your body away from the tree."

Greg didn't seem to hear him, and David groaned. He stepped awkwardly over his body and placed a foot on either side, squatting and slipping his arms under Greg's. He struggled as he wiggled and moved Greg forward enough to fit himself between the tree and Greg. He sat down and pulled Greg's body against his own, recovering them with the coat. He had to warm Greg up, and the only source he had was his own. His arms wrapped firmly around Greg's torso, and Greg's slack body fell limply against David's.

His skin was freezing to the touch. David couldn't keep the fear roiling beneath his skin, through his veins to the core of his heart, from making him tremble.

"Greg, baby, you need to stay awake," David said. "Tell me about how you got here."

"I'm an idiot," Greg said.

David sighed with relief and laughed a bit, just happy to know that he was still with him. "That's not telling me how you got here."

"Yes it is," Greg said. "I went off on you, then I walked out here alone. I don't know this place, I didn't know where I was going. I couldn't even find my way back to the road."

"Actually we're not that far from it," David said.

"That doesn't make me feel any better," Greg said. David chuckled and sniffled, trying to keep his emotions from turning into tears. The last thing he needed was for them to freeze to his face.

"Keep talking to me, Greg," David said. "Tell me, uh – tell me about the funeral and the after party. I bet you showed these Scandinavians a thing or two about drinking contests, eh?"

Greg's body rocked as he laughed. David rubbed his chest and stomach with his hands to warm him up faster as Greg shivered against him.

"They drank me under the table in ten minutes flat," Greg said. "I wished that you were with me at the burial. I kept thinking about how Nana treated you, and I just couldn't believe it. I kept blaming myself for putting you in that position. David, I'm so sorry."

Where the hell were Jolfund and Jurke? He shot the flare minutes ago – they weren't that far. David hoped that they'd figured out the rough area before the flare burned out because they only gave him one.

"You're worried," Greg said quietly. "I can feel it in your body."

"Of course I'm fucking worried," David growled. "If I can't keep you warm enough you can die."

"You care so much about me," Greg said. "You always do. You're always looking after me and taking care of me. And I just keep screwing things up by pushing you into directions you don't want to go."

"No you don't, Greg, you've never screwed anything up. You've only ever made everything better. Before you I didn't have a life outside of my lab coat. I was a coward – I'm still a coward. I wasn't living, I was just alive. The first time you kissed me, it was like you brought life into me. You brought light where there hadn't been anything in years. I love you, Greg. I love you so much that I came to Norway because you asked me to. I love you so much that if you die all that is life to me dies with you."

"You've never told me that you loved me before," Greg said. "Why didn't you ever say anything before?"

"I try to show you with actions," David said. "I'm not really big on expressing my emotions with words."

"Sounds like the David I know," Greg laughed. David fought through the knots straining his throat. He held Greg tightly, leaning his face against his. His eyes welled up with tears, he couldn't help it.

"Greg, if you just try and make it through this with me I'll do whatever you want me to do. I'll buy a house with you, I'll tell everyone at work – whatever will make you happy. Just fight with me," David said.

Greg didn't answer. David turned Greg's face toward him. He was asleep.

"Greg," David said. But Greg wouldn't wake up.

He couldn't wait for Jolfund and Jurke, he had to get Greg back to the house now, as fast as he could. He hoisted Greg up with him – much heavier than he'd been expecting, but dead weight was always the worst way to carry a person on one's own. He used the tree to help prop Greg up enough to changed positions and let him relax onto David's back. He grabbed Greg's arms as they slung over his shoulders, and tried to keep the weight of them both from slipping on any slick patches of snow.

David took step by step against the cold wind with the weight of Greg's life on his shoulders. If Greg died here he would never forgive himself. It was his fault that Greg had stormed off on his own in the first place. He should have run after him, not napping and going off on drives.

David fell to his knees to catch his breath. Almost to the road, he reminded himself.

He heard something. The only sound at the moment was the soft hollow moan of the wind blowing past his ears. At first he was hopeful that perhaps the men had found them at last, and almost called out to them. But the growl shut his mouth before he could utter a sound; a hard, rumbling bark. It sounded like a dog, but David kept seeing wolves in his head. His nerves were completely on the edge of fire now.

Out of the darkness came two large, round amber eyes. Beneath them was a maw of bared fangs.


End file.
